


Prelude in E Minor

by arcadenemesis



Series: Of Glass Hearts & Gold [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Hero Worship, Ice Skating, Implied Allura/Lotor (Voltron), M/M, Mentions of Other Voltron Paladins, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn, Sporting Injuries, Sports, Winter Olympics, alternate universe - figure skating, pairs skating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-31
Updated: 2018-04-13
Packaged: 2019-04-16 01:52:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14154111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arcadenemesis/pseuds/arcadenemesis
Summary: Shirogane wasn't exactly a typical figure skater. His build seemed better suited to hockey rink brawls than for sit spins and step sequences. But Keith supposed that was why he was so drawn to him.





	1. A Study in Free Fall

**Author's Note:**

> Seiteki is an amazing human being and drew not one, but _three_ incredible pieces inspired by this series. Please check them out at their tumblr [here](http://seiteki9.tumblr.com/post/173609572079/so-im-not-organized-and-ive-actually-promised).

The irony of the podium isn't lost on Keith. He can already envision tomorrow’s headlines at home. _Silver takes Gold again_ or _Golden Child pushed to Silver_ or some other lazy play on his and Shirogane’s surnames. The pressure going into the final has been palpable for weeks. After snatching his first world record during the short program at Rostelecom, the media has been practically frothing at the mouth for him to repeat the stunt again tonight. They will be just as ravenous with his failure to unseat the Champion. Keith knows deep down Moscow had been a fluke. The fact that his ultimate failure comes at the hands of a flubbed quad Lutz - _his_ signature jump - only pushes salt into the wound.

The silver doesn't matter. It's the fact that this is their first competition together, his first chance to skate on the same ice as him and prove his worth, and he fumbles.

If standing on the podium is difficult, the post ceremony interviews are torture. Keith has never found himself comfortable with the publicity side of skating. With every success, another nosey reporter rises from the depths of whatever hell they come from and worms their way through his closely guarded private life. Keith still lacks the grace to deal with them despite Iverson’s strained and repetitive instruction. So when he's blindsided with a question about how his time in the foster system has impacted his path to seniors and the Grand Prix, he feels like he has been struck across the face. His mouth pops open and closed several times before the shock gives way to something far more ugly, twisting his lips into a snarl. But a voice to his immediate left cuts in before the growl can leave his throat.

“I think what you meant to say is congratulations on his first Grand Prix silver.”

Shirogane’s overly pleasant voice beside him is unexpected. Keith stops short, mortified that he takes it upon himself to diffuse the situation, eyes settling on his microphone when he speaks again.

“We’ll take the next question please...”

* * *

Quad Lutz, quad Lutz… He's done it a million times in practice, over and over until he lands it more times than not, but he's failed to stick it in its competition debut. Frustration pulses through his aching, bruised limbs. He had been a fool to attempt to work it in to his routine, mere moments after Shirogane’s flawless execution. His free had been breathtaking. A show of pure power and strength that was his own unique style. Keith had been transfixed for the entire routine, the sound of Iverson's nagging downed out to focus on the music and the sure movement of the Japanese skater’s body. Maybe some will claim he was intimidated when they publish their critical articles and scathing tweets, but he isn't searching for excuses. How can he look at Shirogane with bitterness when all he feels is wonder and awe.

* * *

 

Shirogane isn't exactly a typical figure skater. His build seems better suited to hockey rink brawls than for sit spins and step sequences. But Keith supposes that's why he was so drawn to him. Even in his junior debut, his jumps had been show-stopping, with height and speed that seemed inhuman for someone who was barely a teenager. For Keith, young and alone, bouncing from home to home in the system, he had been mesmerized from the moment he laid eyes on him in a stuttering, low quality stream on his new foster sister’s laptop. In a world where the future was fuzzy and uncertain, the art he created with his own body was a spark of inspiration and hope.

Keith is nine when he pulls on his first pair of skates, begging the elderly owner of the local rink for time on the ice after school. In exchange, he maintains the rentals after hours, wiping down blades, buffing scuffs in the leather and re-lacing broken ties. What he lacks in a head start, Keith makes up for in pure grit, teaching himself to move and spin the way Shirogane does in his competition videos.

In the spring, Keith graduates from waltz jumps to full rotations. At the Junior Worlds, Shirogane lands his first triple Lutz.

One evening, gingerly cleaning skates with a sore hip after falling down a dozen times in an attempt to jump doubles, the wrinkled rink manager tells Keith he will pay for his skating lessons.

The following February, his foster brother calls him downstairs for a phone call. A month later, he's on a flight to California, grant letter in hand, to train with some of the best skaters in the country as a promising young novice.

He watches Shirogane’s entire season on a tiny phone screen on his journey. After several replays, he still gasps on his fall at the US Championships, and feels his heart jump in tandem as he redeems himself by landing his first quad in competition - the Lutz, no less - at Worlds. His season results will be enough for him to compete at the senior level next year, if he wishes. Keith’s leg bounces anxiously. Shirogane’s training rink will soon be his training rink now too. He is going to get to meet his idol. He will get to train with his idol. He's going to be _rinkmates_ with his idol.

Life has a weird sense of humour though.

“Shiro?”  
There's a sympathetic sort of pity in the girl’s eyes as she takes in the scruffy novice in front of her.  
“I'm afraid he moved back to Tokyo last week. He wanted to study and train in his home country before he makes his senior debut. Just between you and me, I think he felt he had outgrown Iverson a little too.”

An older boy with the same shock-white platinum hair as the kind girl calls out across the rink.  
“Allura! We can't practice lifts if you insist on chatting with children all day.”

Allura rolls her eyes, but offers Keith a friendly smile.  
“It’s really a shame I couldn't convince him to do pairs. He was my favourite here. He would have been a wonderful mentor for you too, I'm sure.”

Keith tries to convince himself he isn't heartbroken when he smiles and nods back.

At the NHK Trophy that year, Shirogane opens his debut senior short program on a thunderous quad Lutz with a raised right arm, the left planted on his hip. Keith gapes at the television screen for the entire remaining two minutes and twenty-one seconds of his routine while Allura whoops beside him and Lotor (begrudgingly) acknowledges the impressiveness of his opening act. From that moment, the jump becomes his signature and Shirogane announces himself to the world of figure skating as the one to watch. Not that Keith hasn't been watching for years already.

* * *

_Turn and take a breath. Watch your path. Approach on the outside edge. Lean into the left and relax the knee. Face back and kick off with the right._

The Lutz isn’t a jump he will perform in tomorrow’s Exhibition Skate, but he needs to prove his ability to himself alone here now, for his own sake. The entry feels right, the motion smooth. Keith knows he has the speed to complete the rotations. But at the last point of contact between his toe pick and the ice, a loud groan of weighed down hinges cuts through the silence. His head snaps to the side out of instinct, catching a flash of blue and black once, twice… Wait, has he tucked his arms right? On the third turn, the angle seems to be tilted. His arms are definitely out of position.

The fourth rotation never comes, the ice rising to meet him in a crash that leaves his ears ringing. He hears a shout and a scramble by rinkside as an urgent thought tries to push through the fog that settles on impact. Absently, he realises he hasn't moved as the unmistakable sound of blades cutting through the ice draws closer to him.

_Wait… aren't Team Japan’s jackets blue and black?..._

“Keith!”

_That voice…_

With a wince, he rolls off of his hip and onto his back. The bright fluorescents overhead are shadowed by blurred face. He blinks away stars as a warm palm cups his face.

“Keith, can you hear me?”

Grey eyes come into focus, and before he can reconnect his brain to his tongue, he hears himself mumble, “you know my name?”  
Keith suddenly wishes he had done a better job of trying to crack himself open on the ice. He can feel his cheeks starting to burn already.  
“Uh, I mean, yeah… I can hear you, Shirogane.”

A hand comes to his back as he starts to sit up gingerly.

“I'm so sorry. That was terrible timing from me. I didn't mean to put you off of your jump like that."  
Worry is written all over his unfairly handsome face as he checks him over frantically. He must have thrown on his skates with superhuman speed to have made it over to him so quickly. The Team Japan jacket has been discarded too, leaving him in his plain black training clothes.  
“Are you injured? Should I call for help?”

Keith shakes his head insistently.  
“No, no it's fine. The only real casualty is my dignity.”

Twice. He has failed Shirogane’s signature Lutz right in front of him, twice. In only a matter of hours. It stings.

He pulls himself to his feet before the older skater can offer his assistance, brushing the ice off of his training shirt. For years, he had pictured what his first conversation with Shirogane would be like. Ideally it would come after a perfect performance on the ice where Keith could play it cool and Shirogane would approach him with congratulations, impressed by his style and form. This however… This is far from ideal.

“Thanks,” he mumbles quickly, before shooting off.

It's only after half a lap that he realises he isn't alone, almost jumping out of his skin when he catches a glimpse of movement over his left shoulder. Shirogane smiles innocently, seamlessly keeping up with his hands folded behind his back.

“Sorry. It's just… you might have a concussion. I wouldn't feel comfortable leaving you to your own devices right after a fall like that.”

“Oh…”  
Keith is sure his faint feeling has nothing to do with his fall. He snaps his eyes forward again.  
“I guess that makes sense…”

He lapses quickly into awkward silence, hoping Shirogane will quickly lose interest, but the gold medallist seems content to glide a step or two behind him. Unfortunately he seems less content to let the silence reign.

“You're kind of insane, you know?”

Keith almost trips, spluttering indignantly out of instinct for his wounded ego.  
“Excuse me?”

Shirogane laughs, but it isn't unkind.  
“The Lutz, right at the end of your program.”

Keith's insides wither immediately.  
“Yeah, well not all of us are the Champion of the ice, Shirogane,” he bites out.

“Shiro.”

Keith stares at him over his shoulder, confused.

“Call me Shiro,” he smiles.  
“Champion is a little self-serving, don't you think?”  
The tone is playful, but Keith thinks there might be a bittersweet twist in his lips as he speaks.  
“And you’re Keith Kogane,” he continues, when Keith fails to remember the basics of social etiquette. It's framed as a fact, not a question. Shiro knows who he is, much to his disbelief.  
“Can I call you Keith?”

As Shiro stands still, Keith realises he has glided to a halt.  
“Uh, yeah sure. That's fine. I'm Keith.”  
He can hear his subconscious screaming at him as he holds out his hand. He winces.  
“Which… you already know,” he finishes lamely.

Shiro laughs again and Keith feels his bones turn to liquid. If he could bottle that sound, he would be the most dangerous man in the universe, he thinks absently. He's pretty sure he gives the most flaccid handshake in human history as Shiro accepts the gesture.  
“It’s nice to meet you Keith. Properly.”

He gestures to the ice and Keith quickly takes the hint, pushing off to continue their lap. This time, Shiro stays shoulder-to-shoulder with him. Or… shoulder-to-chin. God, he's even taller up close like this.

“And for the record, I've never even _attempted_ a quad Lutz in the second half of a free skate before. I guess that's why you’ve started breaking my records already.”

_Oh…_

“You've been training in Cali, right?”

Keith looks up to him again, taken aback. “Yeah. I… actually started there as a novice not long after you left.”

“I know,” Shiro smiles, without missing a beat.  
By comparison, Keith feels himself skip twelve all at once.  
“Allura told me a lot about you.”

“She-- she did?”

Oh God, has she told Shiro all about the scraggly orphan obsessed with him from the moment he stepped foot on the rink? Would Allura betray him like that? Well, probably not. Allura is like a big sister. She tutors him when he struggles with his workload and is always the first to step in to fend off pesky reporters that take an interest in him during the competition season. But she had already been close friends with Shiro long before they had become rinkmates. Had they already laughed about the no-name novice who watched the same competition videos over and over and aspired to join his idol on the ice?

“Mm,” Shiro affirms softly, cutting through his spiralling thoughts.  
“She said you're a hard worker. And that sometimes you're the only one who keeps her sane when Lotor is… difficult.”  
He turns a dimpled smile onto him, and suddenly Keith realises that perhaps his idolisation has been drifting out of its lane into strange new territory for a while, without his notice. But right now, it has a brick on the accelerator.  
“Sounds like the media has you pegged wrong.”

“Are you referring to where I'm the bratty upstart who wants to tear the competition apart, or how I'm the depressed loner with the tragic backstory?” he asks, humorous tone falling a little flat.

“Both,” Shiro says easily with a shrug.  
“I don't know what you've been through, but you're more than the sum of your past. And there's a difference between being a brat and wanting some privacy. People are more complicated than their media labels.”

Fuck. Okay, so he's nice too. Whoever had once said never to meet your heroes had it all wrong. Either that, or they had just had some shitty heroes.

“At least you got slapped with Champion though,” Keith points out. “That's not bad.”

Shiro gives a rueful smile, looking away. “The only thing the media loves more than a champion is seeing them fall.”

He falls silent then, contemplative, and Keith panics. He's horrific at small talk at the best of times, but he doesn't want to end the conversation there, failing to connect with Shiro after he just offered his own unexpectedly empathetic assessment of Keith.

“Allura said she tried to convince you to skate pairs when you first met.”

It's stupid, but it's the only thing he can think of as he scrambles for a foothold. He ducks his head and watches his feet with an unnatural interest for a competitive athlete when Shiro looks to him again in surprise.

“You're right.”

Keith risks a glance up, watching Shiro’s distant expression.

“When I first arrived at the rink, Iverson made no bones about the fact I wasn't… well, I didn't exactly look like a typical figure skater. Then or now.”  
He grins directly at him, and Keith is certain it's only pure survival instinct that keeps him steady on his skates.  
“Lotor and Allura were trialling pairs together at the time and they got off to a bit of a rocky start. Allura singled me out as someone who would probably be able do their programs lifts, so she… strong armed me into a couple of run-throughs.”  
He shrugs as Keith tries to hide a grin. That definitely sounds like Allura. Perhaps she is a little more fond of Lotor these days, but she can still be quite headstrong and critical when it comes to her skating.  
“It was fun, but I'm not exactly the twizzling type. I knew I wanted to do singles and I stuck to it. Allura was pretty disappointed. She forced Lotor to practice for weeks on end until he could get the same height on his throws.”

_Yeah, I bet you could throw me halfway across this rink one-handed._

Shiro starts laughing and Keith realises with a visceral horror that he has voiced the thought out loud.

“We could give it a try if you like?”

As Keith contemplates whether he has been cursed by some unfair deity, Shiro doubles over beside him. Despite the expense to his pride, the sound warms him and he feels a pleasant buzz in his chest almost as if the sound travels through the ice and up through his skates to reverberate through him.

“I'm going to run through my e-ex,” the older skater says, showing mercy.  
“You don't look like you're going to keel over any time soon, but if you start feeling a bit woozy, give me a yell, okay?”

Keith nods dumbly, watching him glide away. From such close proximity, he's even more impressive to look at it. Six and a half feet of well-sculpted muscle, with fluidity in his limbs that seems impossible for his size. All strictly from a professional view, of course. Although, the tight training tee and the low rise sweatpants…

Keith frowns, quickly dispelling the thought to throw himself into his own exhibition routine.

* * *

Shiro is first back to the boards, leaning on his forearms beside a towel and water bottle. Keith can feel a sheen of sweat cooling on his face and nape, and gratefully accepts the towel that is tossed to him.

“So why are you here so late?” Shiro asks after a swig from his water bottle.

Keith's brain uses maximum CPU to stop the loop of Shiro's Adams Apple bobbing as he swallows and switch his function to providing an answer that sounds vaguely human and _not_ concussed.  
“Uh… that is… My coach and I had a… disagreement I guess.”

Shiro nods too nonchalantly and Keith has to suppress a groan with a sudden understanding.

“But you already knew that, didn't you?”

Shiro has the decency to look apologetic, bringing his bottle to his lips with a sheepish expression.  
“I may have heard one or two rumours.”

Keith does groan then. “Such as?”

“You punched Coach Iverson in the eye and quit the team.”

Mortification jolts Keith backward, knocking his water bottle off of the boards to pool on the ice.  
“That's… only half true.”  
A numb chill washes through his veins. He thought that conversation had been private. What else had been overheard? He can feel the tips of his ears starting to burn and for the millionth time today, he wishes the ice would just open up and swallow him whole.

“The part where you blinded Iverson or fired him?” Shiro asks lightly, and Keith realises he's teasing him. The heat rushes down his neck, and for a split second he swears that grey eyes flick down to follow the flush.

“I didn't punch Iverson,” he finally strangles out.

“I know. You're not half as unhinged as they make you out to be.”

“I wanted to though.”

He regrets the words the second they come out of his mouth. Shiro levels him with a curious look and straightens from where he leans over the boards.

“Why do you say that?”

_Because he told me to get my head in the game. To stop focusing on you and stick to my own style. That the Lutz was a stupid and childish idea and could have derailed my entire program. That I'll never be the best if I can't stop idolising you._

Shiro seems to sense the internal struggle and takes pity, offering a smile.  
“Sorry, that was insensitive. I shouldn't step into personal matters like that.”  
Before Keith can choke out any kind of reassurance, Shiro stoops to pick up his now-empty bottle from where it has been thrown in his panic, setting it beside his and offering him a hand. Keith blinks stupidly at it.  
“Come on, I told you I trialled pairs for Allura. Let's have a change of pace.”

Keith fails to respond, and so with a huff of a laugh, Shiro reaches forward to take it himself. Fingers wrap easily around his forearm and briefly Keith wonders if he in fact _has_ died after that fall and that this is life throwing him one last favour in lieu of flashing his mediocre life before his eyes before he's welcomed through the gates of hell. When the gloved hand slips down into his, Keith decides he's going to make the most of death, and squeezes firmly. Shiro meets his eyes with surprise, but then smiles shyly. For a dead guy, Keith thinks, his heart is pounding pretty fucking hard.

Shiro draws them back into the middle of the rink, leading them into a circular momentum. Keith raises an eyebrow.

“Death spirals?”

_Ironic._

“Up to it?” Shiro challenges.

“I take it you're spinning me?”

“Have you ever done this before?”

“No.”

Shiro laughs. “Then yes, I'm spinning you.”

Keith must level him with a suspicious look, because he continues, “sink into it and arch your spine. Keep your arm straight. We'll go slow and I'll control the motion.”

Their first attempt has Keith kicking up chips of ice and Shiro quickly pulls him up against his chest, where he can feel the rumble of his laugh through his shirt.

“Trust me. I'm not going to fling you across the arena, so relax.”

“Easy for you to say,” Keith grumbles to Shiro's collarbone, trying not to focus on the lines pressing against him. “You're not eye-level with the surface of the ice.”

Shiro suddenly shifts to concern.  
“If you're not comfortable…”

Keith cuts him off with a shake of his head.  
“One more time.”

He lets Shiro spin him backwards this time - a cosmic spiral, he tells him - leaning into the motion and closing his eyes. The coolness of the ice close to his skin provides a stark contrast to the warm, sure hand in his. He doesn't catch Shiro’s sharp intake of breath when he coaxes him back up and his eyes open slowly again.

“Better?”

Shiro swallows, eyes flicking between his in a way that makes his stomach feel tight.  
“Yeah,” he breathes after a beat. “Perfect.”  
A tension Keith hadn't noticed in the other skater leaves him and he turns on his thousand watt smile again.  
“I think you're ready for that throw now.”

Keith laughs, hitting him half-heartedly in the chest.  
“Maybe another time.”  
He glances to his watch.  
“It's getting late. I should probably head back to the hotel.”

Shiro releases him gently, nodding.  
“I might do one more run-through before I head back.”

Keith tries not to feel too disappointed.  
“Sure. See you tomorrow.”

Keith can almost imagine Shiro's smile falters for a moment then.

“See you tomorrow,” he echoes.

He shoots him a parting smile, skating to the boards. But as he leans against the gate to shuck off his skates and retrieve his trainers, Shiro calls out to him. He looks up questioningly, seeing the other skater rushing toward him.

“Breakfast.”

Keith stares up at him in open confusion. “Huh?”

He watches as a pretty blush spreads over the bridge of Shiro’s nose.  
“Join me. For breakfast. I thought maybe you'd like to escape Team USA for a while until things calm down a little. Besides, we need to figure out who is going to coach you for the rest of the season now Iverson has lost you.”

_We?..._

“Do you have your phone here?” Shiro asks earnestly.  
He waits patiently for Keith to unfreeze himself to rummage through his training bag, the younger skater handing it over when Shiro holds out his hand.  
“This is my number. Text me and I'll let you know the details.”

Keith’s voice comes out far more strained than he wants.  
“Oh-- okay.”  
He gathers up his bag, shoving his skates away. With an idiotic wave, he scrambles up the steps to the exit, fumbling with his phone one-handed.

Halfway to the hotel, he gets a text back.

_Lobby at 7?_

Keith smiles at the screen.

_Make it 8 and you've got a deal._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Blows kiss to the sky] to my Yuri on Ice past.
> 
> Find me at [copilotsheith](http://www.copilotsheith.tumblr.com) on tumblr!
> 
> EDIT: you may have noticed I have reworked this to present tense. That's because I have started work on a sequel and decided this was a better fit going forward. Stay tuned


	2. Intermezzo di Crescendo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith feels bold.
> 
> "Throw me," he demands.

Keith moves to Ottawa in the middle of May after a coach-free (but nonetheless, disappointing) bronze at Worlds.

It's bittersweet. For a fleeting, wild moment, the call of Tokyo is like a sweet siren song, drawing him in. But common sense and logic prevail, and with Shiro's guidance over the months following their meeting at the Grand Prix final, he finds his best fit in Canada.

His foster family fly with him for the move. At 20, their responsibility to him as a matter of legal fact has long expired. Yet in spite of that, they have wilfully and wholeheartedly tethered themselves to him since before he received the grant that would set his life on its current course. It means a home to come back to at Christmas, silly care packages and birthday presents, and - apparently - helping one move cross-country.

“You know,” Katie says to him as he passes a small box down off the trailer, “for a record-holding athlete, you sure are lacking in… stuff.”

“That's our Keith though. Never worried about material things,” Colleen smiles fondly, watching as Matt swamps him in a bear hug with the familiarity of an older brother. Keith bats him off with forced annoyance as he scruffs at his hair. He's letting it grow a little longer, either out of rebellion following his severance from Iverson, or laziness. Perhaps both.

The important thing is that Shiro seems to like it when he arrives for a training exchange two weeks later.

When Keith picks him up in a taxi at the airport (“It's not a hassle, I swear.”), a hand goes to his nape as they pull apart from their greeting hug - because apparently they are the type of people who embrace on arrival now.

“Getting a bit long at the back here,” he notes as his fingers card through the tuft of hair at his neck.  
There's a hint of colour high on his marble-sculpted cheekbones as he pulls back and re-shoulders his training bag. Keith masks his own flush by taking the handle of Shiro’s suitcase before he can, leading them out to the car.  
“How are you finding it so far?” Shiro asks next to him in the backseat.

“Good.” And because a beat later, he realises that's a poor answer, he continues, “Montgomery seems to be a good fit, you were right. She seems pretty receptive to my ideas and doesn't want to shoebox me into traditional skating.”

Shiro seems to relax beside him.

“There is this one kid debuting seniors next season that seems to have it in for me though,” he adds with a frown. “Larry, I think? I'm still learning everyone's names. I don't remember him from juniors, despite what he tells me...”

* * *

“A motorcycle?”

Keith straightens as he retrieves the spare helmet.  
“Well, yeah… there's a good reason I didn't drive you from the airport myself.”  
Shiro is staring openly, and Keith starts to squirm under his gaze.  
“We can walk if the bike makes you uncomfortable.”

Shiro blinks and seems to refocus.  
“No, it's fine! Just…” his eyes drift again, “unexpected.”

At the rink, Montgomery hauls Larry-- _Lance_ away from his burly hockey goalie friend to put the three of them through some of the most brutal drills he's ever endured to start off their first day. She's kind, with a wicked sense of humour, but she's also a bit of a hardass, and Keith wonders if he'll even survive the three weeks of summer training. Four more victims join them fresh off of their international flights after lunch, and the three of them get a small respite while Montgomery gets to know their limits too.

“So much for a relaxing summer,” Keith grumbles at the boards. Behind them, Lance is slumped over the benches, his hockey buddy - Hunk, he introduces himself as - patting his back sympathetically. Shiro just laughs, looking unfairly fresh.

“Wait until tomorrow. It will get worse before it gets better.”

He isn't wrong. But the ache that settles deep into his muscles during the week is gratifying. It's a challenge that ignites him in a way Iverson never did. Instead of just being driven to be enough to skate on the same ice as his idol, Keith finds himself eager to please his coach too.

He groans as he settles himself on the other end of the couch from Shiro, where he reads in silence. He toes off his trainers gingerly, deciding he'll order in instead of cooking for the two of them tonight before Shiro returns to his hotel. His eyes widen as the world lurches around him and he finds himself spread lengthways down the couch, Shiro's hand on his calf and his bruised feet in his lap. His thumb presses firmly into the meat there and Keith hisses.

“Better?” Shiro asks, pausing and glancing up from his book.

God, yes. It hurts, but it feels like heaven. It takes everything Keith has not to sob in relief. Instead, he pinches his eyes closed and nods frantically. Shiro shifts, returning to his book, and continues kneading the knots from his battered legs in silence.

* * *

They're almost halfway through week two when Shiro pulls on his arm during a break between drills. He circles around so he faces Keith as he skates backward, a shy smile on his lovely lips. Keith barely hears the words that pass through them.

“Wanna try a lift?”

It's not exactly unusual for skaters to mess around on the ice together during downtime, and in particular, Lance seems to love dragging Nyma and Plaxum and any of the other poor women’s skaters around to spin aimlessly and choreograph ridiculous on-the-spot routines. But Keith had never really indulged such things before, always one-track on his training and planning his next move. So when Shiro's hands move to his hips, he's pretty sure he short-circuits. Uncertainty enters Shiro’s eyes then, as if suddenly alarmed he may have overstepped, so Keith quickly finds his voice.

“Don't drop me. Montgomery will kill us both.”

The laugh he receives in response is better than gold could ever be.

“No overheads just yet, promise.”

They skate around each other for a moment, Shiro's hands still steady at his hips. When they build up just enough speed, Shiro releases his grip and nods to him, and Keith kicks himself off the ice. Sure arms catch around his thighs and hold him up high, pirouetting the two of them around in the centre of the ice. Keith moves his arms into a mockery of a ballet position that sends the two of them into a fit of giggles that Keith can feel vibrating through his belly. Shiro holds him for a moment longer as they come to a stand-still, and the two lock eyes in a moment that has Keith suddenly breathless, before he sets him down tenderly again.

“Not bad,” he says, clearing his throat. “But I think we can do better.”

Keith doesn't know whether to feel disappointed or grateful when Montgomery interrupts any response he has to call them back for jumps.

* * *

Three weeks goes too quickly, and Keith has to choke back on his dismay when he drops Shiro off for his flight back to Japan. They've barely spent a moment of the last 21 days apart, but the friendship is still fresh, and Keith doesn't want Shiro to think he's a freak for being so attached so soon. He supposes his side of the connection has been nurtured a little longer on account of his childhood obsession, which Keith is fairly certain Shiro still doesn't know about, thankfully. But he also struggles to remember a time when he has ever clicked so easily with another human being. He offers a handshake at the departure gate which Shiro looks at in amusement for a moment, before pulling him into a firm hug. It finishes with a large, warm hand on his shoulder and a smile that shoots its way straight through Keith’s chest like a fiery arrow.

“I'll message you when I land.”

* * *

Shiro takes his SP record back at the Asian Open and Keith finds Montgomery pushing him harder than ever for the Grand Prix Series.

“Keith, if I see one more flutz, you're doing fifteen stop-pivot sprints!”

Keith growls as he turns sharply on his skates in defiance, but beneath the frustration is a simmering feeling of gratitude. Where Iverson would dismiss his attempts to practice his more reliable jumps, Montgomery seems just as determined to push him beyond. It’s exhilarating.

“Land this one and I'll change your opening toe loop to a Lutz in your Free.”

Keith grins, and bursts across the ice again.

* * *

He can't help it. The second he catches sight of grey eyes across the lobby in Prague, Keith's legs carry him across the room where Shiro welcomes him with open arms. There's a murmur amongst the Japanese team but Keith buries his face selfishly in the crook of Shiro's neck anyway when he lifts him off his feet.

 _I've missed you_ he wants to say, but it's only been a year since the wipeouts and death spirals, and he doesn't think he's allowed to voice that just yet.

“You were incredible at Cup of China,” Shiro tells him instead. “The Biellmann spin at the end of your Short? Wow.”

And Keith flushes, because he hates how his style is still delicate when the Japanese skater's exudes strength, but he might just like the way Shiro seems to revere it. The reporters swarm them then, fascinated by this sudden camaraderie between the world's top two skaters, and Shiro sets him down to instinctively take the lead and politely deflect their questions. Keith sets his face to stone and endures, but hides his grip on the hem of Shiro's jacket behind his back.

* * *

Keith finds himself in the centre of the podium, his world record back under his belt, to his utter dumbstruck disbelief. Shiro beams at him, almost eye level despite the step down to silver, like he's never been more proud of anyone. It makes him feel like someone has hollowed him out and replaced his insides with molten liquid. When Keith pulls him and bronze up onto the middle stand, a firm arm slots around the dip between his ribs and his hip and pulls him in against his side. Keith actually smiles for the podium photo this time.

Keith breaks his usual formula of pretty steps sequences and contorted spins, and skates with fire in his blood to _Need You Tonight_ by INXS for his Exhibition. At the crest of the final chorus, he throws himself into Shiro’s quad Lutz, much to the delight of the crowd. His hand in the air is shaking and the landing is a little off-balance, but he sticks it out of sheer determination and he feels _alive_. When he comes off the ice, Shiro is staring at him with an expression he doesn't recognise. Montgomery pulls him away by one of the chains on his belt for his final press interviews.

Hours later, when the crowd has gone home, the costumes have been ditched and it's just the two of them in the quiet arena, Keith feels bold.

“Throw me,” he demands.

Shiro gives him that strange look again, before blinking it away.  
“Are you sure?” he cautions.

Keith just huffs his impatience and turns to build up speed. Shiro is there in an instant, pressed against his back and matching his movements. A hand wraps easily around his wrist, and Keith has to fight back a full-body shiver when the other slides over his belly to rest at his opposite hip. Shiro’s fingers test the flesh there lightly, as if afraid to hold on too tight.

A voice murmurs softly in his ear.  
“Ready?”

Keith can only nod in reply. Shiro's fingers dig in a little more insistently.

“Double loop for now. Nothing too crazy.”

Keith nods again, then feels himself being propelled up into a corkscrew motion. The technique is sound, with plenty of power to complete the rotations. The height is dizzying though, and Keith sinks a little too deep into his knee on the landing. Pure willpower keeps his left leg extended and he refuses to touch down, muscles in his right thigh screaming as he pushes himself into correct posture, eyes fixed on Shiro as he glides backwards in the aftermath. The older skater seems sheepish as he looks back at him.

“Sorry. It's been a while. I didn't mean to hurtle you so high. I'll use less force next time.”

_Next time?_

Keith isn't sure if he has a touch of vertigo or if the idea of doing this again with Shiro has him tilted off-axis.  
“Not if we're aiming for a quad throw, you won't.”

Shiro makes a surprised sort of choked off sound and he flushes in a way that doesn't seem to be strictly from the cold.  
“I'm much better at lifts,” he mumbles to the ice, and Keith's not sure why he seems on the defensive. He feels wild with it, though.

“Alright then, _Champ_ ,” he teases, crowing internally when Shiro's eyes snap up to him in shock, “lift me then.”

Shiro almost stumbles backwards as Keith advances on to him, before recovering both his expression and posture to move in tandem once more. His hands find Keith’s hips again, so he pushes off to assist the lift into swan position. Except the momentum isn't quite right. Shiro's fingers flex against the exposed slip of skin between his shirt and sweatpants to correct his hold. Keith overcorrects his centre of gravity. He sees Shiro's eyes widen for a split second as he tips that fraction too far forward in his grip. Shiro holds on tightly though and allows himself to crash backward toward the ice in favour of dumping Keith overhead. Feeling the descent in slow motion, and knowing Shiro's arms are too occupied to break his fall, Keith's hand shoots out to cradle the back of his head, crushing his knuckles against the ice as he lands bodily on top of the other skater. Shock steals the pain away for a moment, and then another when he finds himself nose-to-nose with this year’s Grand Prix final silver medallist. He can feel Shiro breathing heavily beneath him, can feel his heartbeat like a jackhammer against his ribs, trying to crack through into his chest. Neither skater says anything for a moment, and Keith's eyes dart down to Shiro’s lips when his tongue flicks across them.

“Well, so much for being better at that I guess.”

Shiro voice shocks him back to reality and like a livewire, Keith is suddenly on his feet, the bravado from earlier completely evaporated.

“Oh God Shiro, I'm sorry.” His knuckles are bleeding. “Fuck… I mean…”

He bolts, leaving Shiro on the ice alone, bewildered.

It takes him weeks to message him after that, and only because he panics that his silence could actually be making things worse. That maybe he might lose one of the only truly good things in his life.

Shiro's reply comes back after the longest nineteen seconds Keith has ever known. He doesn't mention the night of the Exhibition and it’s like nothing has changed at all. Keith breathes a sigh of relief and doesn't understand why his heart spites him by sinking with disappointment.

* * *

After another gold at Worlds, another phone call changes the course of his life.

_“I'm relocating to Canada.”_

Keith can hear the nerves in his voice and his breath hitches in response.

_“I know this is sudden, but I've been feeling… stuck here and I'm not ready to stop. Not yet. I've spoken to Montgomery and she's says she's up for coaching both of us, even though it's crazy and super late notice and she's reminded me this is exactly what I did to her when I sent you her way.”_

He's rambling _,_ Keith thinks faintly.

_“But the last thing I want to do is sabotage your season, so if you think it's too much then I'll think of something else or just stay here or--"_

“No,” Keith cuts in, and Shiro stills on the other end of the line. He swallows the lump in his throat. “No. Please… come. I think it would be good for you.”

Good for both of us, is what he means.

_“Keith… are you sure?”_

He laughs softly, because he's been learning over these last few months that Shiro will prioritise everyone ahead of himself, even to his own professional detriment.

“Please,” he murmurs, heart in his mouth. “I want you to come.”  
It feels too intimate, too open, so he adds, “Spare me from having to room with Lance again this season.”

Shiro splutters a laugh through the line and the ground quakes beneath his feet.

* * *

Everyone screws around between run throughs and drills, Keith knows. Lance still drags every pretty girl within arms reach into terrible waltzes and dips, and Montgomery smiles when the novices yell and race each other across the rink. But Keith has an inkling, deep down, that this isn't quite the same. For reasons unspoken between them, they both linger after practice, long after everyone has departed the rink, to glide in each other's orbit alone. Keith catches his hand and they spin together. Shiro races to meet him and lifts him into an attempted star position. It's hardly polished, but that's not the point. They take the bike, or they walk home together. They enjoy each other's company in comfortable silence, or Shiro tells him about living in Tokyo, or they figure how they are going to cheat this week's meal plan without Montgomery finding out. Their lives slot together like missing jigsaw pieces and it's all Keith has ever wanted. Almost.

Keith decides he can trick himself into believing it's enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't stay away from this AU, I'm sorry! More to come.
> 
> Yell at me about figure skating paladins at [copilotsheith](http://www.copilotsheith.tumblr.com) on tumblr


	3. The Aria of Adonis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The higher they fly, the harder they fall.

Keith can pinpoint the moment the world ends.

After Shiro's incredible senior debut season years ago, a younger Keith had poured over every piece of media he could find about the hot-out-of-the-gate skater from Japan. Finally, people were paying him the attention he had always commanded, and it had thrilled Keith to no end to find new interviews, puff pieces and sports profiles dedicated entirely to his idol.

_What kind of skater would he be without that golden right arm?_

Keith remembered reading that exact comment on a YouTube compilation of his now-famous Lutz years ago, when he had been stumbling through Juniors and he was sure Shiro didn't know his name.

Maybe it had been curse.

Now sitting in first place, Keith had beamed to Shiro as he came off the Olympic ice, wishing him good luck for his Free. But wishes are hollow words, he realises.

It's going exactly to plan, he thinks as he watches him. Keith has already given up gold to this routine once this season at the most recent Grand Prix final, and he suspects he'll lose it again tonight. There's no sting in it though, even at the Olympics. It's never been about the colour draped around his neck after all.

But then the air sours.

Shiro goes for his last triple axel combo and it looks perfect… until it doesn't, and he overrotates to land forward on his outstretched arms with all the force of hell behind him. The moment is punctuated by a gunshot and Keith leaps to his feet in the Kiss & Cry out of instinct. His heart has frozen in his chest. Training on the same ice in Canada naturally means that Keith has seen enough of Shiro's failures at practice to know he is in fact human, but he has never seen him crash out like this in competition.

Shiro scrambles to his feet and shoots Keith a look as if to say, _don't you dare_. He rushes to catch up with the music, but it's obvious something is drastically wrong. Pain is laced in every movement and his right arm is pinned to his side. The second the music finishes, Shiro sinks to his knees and Keith vaults the boards, disqualification be damned. The Olympic arena is eerily quiet, and before the medics can get to them, Keith can see with clarity what is wrong.

Shiro has broken his golden arm.

* * *

Keith doesn't know what deals Montgomery has signed with the devil, but somehow he takes the gold, despite his display. It means she forces him to attend the medal ceremony after missing the presentations immediately following the free skate, and the ability to fight back leaves him when Shiro insists he goes.

Keith stands numb and silent through _Star Spangled Banner_. A skater from Russia has the silver and a giddy, dumbfounded Lance has defied all expectations to take Cuba’s first Winter Olympic medal in bronze. Shiro barely places in the top ten. It’s the first time Keith ever remembers him not medaling in a major competition since cementing his place in seniors. As soon as the ceremony is over, Keith pauses only long enough to congratulate his other rinkmate, because he's proud of Lance, he truly is, but then he rushes straight back to the hospital.

Shiro greets him with a strained smile. It's a double break - unla and radius - and a compound fracture in his wrist.

“The surgeon says they can't operate until the swelling goes down.”  
He doesn't meet Keith’s eyes.  
“So I'm going to go back home and get it sorted there.”

Keith knows home means Japan, not Canada, and his heartbeat multiplies.  
“I'll come with you,” he says right away, because that's the only thing that makes sense.

“No.”  
Shiro's voice is sharp and it cuts through him like a blade. He seems to regret his tone, because he runs his left hand over his face, but he doesn't apologise. When he looks up to Keith, there's an exhaustion there that frightens him.  
“You've got Worlds to think about.”

Keith wants to tell him that doesn't matter to him, but something about the hardness in Shiro’s eyes makes him baulk. He hasn't mentioned how this injury will affect his career. Keith can't bring himself to ask.

Shiro goes to Tokyo where they put a metal plate in his arm, and Keith goes to Worlds where he bombs out to sixth. Shiro doesn't text.

* * *

Keith thinks he might lose his mind. It's been months, and he's learned more about Shiro's recovery from his RSS feed than from Shiro himself. Desperate, he sends him a Sky Scanner screenshot, displaying prices from Ottawa to Tokyo. His phone blips a moment later.

_Don't._

Keith growls, frustrated, but a second message comes through: an image of Gate 14 at Narita and a familiar training bag.

_When were you going to tell me????_

He doesn't get an answer for another 15 hours.

_I'm sorry..._

When Keith opens the door at 3am, he wants to be furious, but he catches a glance of the scar on Shiro’s forearm and it leaves him all at once. Shiro lets him sink into his chest and leads him back to his bed.

It's four days before Shiro joins practice, and hours after Keith has started his drills for the morning. He glances at Keith, but there's a disconnect that follows from the apartment, and Keith is starting to wonder whether Shiro took his failure at Worlds during his absence personally. Keith lingers hopefully after practice, but finds himself alone that day and the next.

He learns through Coach Montgomery that he's still in rehab, still yet to test whether he is truly ready to return. At 26, age is his enemy after being on the sidelines for almost a full season. It's unlikely he'll be ready in time for the Grand Prix Series.

It fucks with his own preparation, and everyone can tell. He actively avoids Lance and his jibes, and when Montgomery pulls him up on a sloppy free leg in practice, he snaps. Shiro watches with impassive disapproval from the other side of the rink and Keith storms off the ice. It grows toxic, until Shiro catches him in the gym and chews him out.

“What the hell do you think you're doing?”

Keith tries to shrug him off.  
“I don't know what you're talking about,” he mumbles.

Shiro's grip holds firm. He's using his left.  
“Yes you do, Keith. You're on a mission of self destruction and it needs to stop.”

“Forgive me for being a little preoccupied,” Keith snarls, with venom he doesn't mean.

Shiro releases him in surprise and Keith pulls back his arm as if to reclaim the limb.

“I had no idea what was happening with you for _months_. Then you just show up with barely any warning and spend your time being as far away from me as physically possible.”

The fight leaves him in a sob that has Shiro looking horrified.

“What did I do wrong? Was it not coming with you? Was it Worlds? Please tell me so I can fix it!”

Shiro's hands are on him in an instant.  
“Keith… Keith, no it isn't you. You haven't…”  
He regroups with a breath.  
“I've just… I've been in a really dark place since my fall, not sure if I would be able to come back, and I just didn't want to put that on you.”

“You could have answered my calls!” Keith cries, hating himself for breaking down now. A single word leaves him in a broken voice.  
“Takashi…”

Shiro swallows and crumbles, brushing tears away from Keith’s cheekbones with a gentle thumb.  
“I know… Keith, I'm so sorry.”  
He pulls him to his chest, and Keith feels the fabric under his cheek grow damp.  
“What I did was wrong. Please forgive me.”

Keith sniffs and nods, clinging on for dear life.

* * *

Keith sees Shiro smile genuinely for the first time since the Olympics when he takes gold at the Grand Prix. He sits with him in the Kiss & Cry and leans over when Keith receives his score and finally breaks his Free Skate world record for the first time. It marks the first moment he has held all records at any one time during his career.

“I'm taking it back at Worlds.”

* * *

Shiro is running through entire routines complete with quads on New Years Eve, and when Keith stays back, he finds he's not alone.

He seems shy on Keith’s approach, and so much more like the Shiro he knows.

“Skate with me a little while?” he asks, and Keith picks up his hand without a word.

They're on their fifth lap when Shiro speaks again.  
“I want to try a throw.”

Keith looks up to him in surprise, then glances at his scar on his forearm. Shiro catches the direction of his gaze.

“It's fine,” he assures. “It feels strong. Can we?”

Keith trusts his assessment.  
“Sure.”

They move into position, and Keith feels warmth radiate from the spot on his waist where Shiro's fingers rest. Shiro checks he's ready one last time, then propels him up. It feels like he's hardly lost any strength at all and Keith comfortably completes three rotations in the air. It's only at the peak that he realises Shiro hasn't thrown him forward to land on the ice on his own power. Instead, careful hands catch him on the descent and press featherlight on his hips to set him back gently on the ice. It steals the air from his lungs. He lets himself glide until Shiro catches up with him, but when his hands settle on his hips again, he brings the two them to a halt.

Keith tilts his head in a silent question as Shiro stares at the ice.

“Please… I want…”  
He swallows hard, bringing his eyes up to meet Keith’s in a desperate plea.  
“I need--"

Keith surges forward, because he needs it too. Has needed it for so long. And God, why didn't he just tell him? How could he have possibly known that Shiro might feel the same way when he was _Shiro_ and Keith was just… Keith?

Shiro is crying when he pulls away, and he feels salt prickle at his eyes in answer.

“You too?” the injured skater chokes out.

Keith blinks his vision clear as he nods desperately.  
“Of course. Fuck, _always_ Shiro. This entire time--"

He's the one cut off this time, lips tender and reverent against his.

“I love you,” he hears himself gasp out, and _shit_ , he didn't mean to say it so soon, but now it's out of him and he can't stem the flood, a hand rising to grip the other man’s shoulder as if looking for purchase to existence itself. “I love you, Shiro. I love you so much. And I know I'm not meant to say that, but I--"

He's on the verge of hysterics when Shiro nips at his bottom lip, effectively silencing him.  
“It's okay,” he assures gently, knocking their foreheads together with a watery laugh. “Because I love you too, baby. I have for the longest time.”

* * *

There are some drawbacks to mixing work and pleasure. One morning, Montgomery dares to ask why Keith is skating so gingerly after a weekend break. The two of them lock eyes across the rink and Shiro's face turns such an impressive shade of red that Keith swears it's heating his own from a distance. Another time, Lance screams when he catches them kissing in the locker room, forcing them to come clean to the entire team. With horror, it turns out Lance is the only one who has been without a clue for months. Media rumours start circling not too long after, and Keith learns to log out of public forums.

But the good outweighs the bad tenfold. The Holts are thrilled, and Shiro's family treats him as their own. When Shiro smiles at him, his heart feels whole, and he knows he wants to spend the rest of his life with him.

* * *

He's in first place in Worlds, but there's one more skater to go. Shiro stops him on the way to the Kiss & Cry, and delivers devastation with a smile.

“This is my last competitive skate.”

Keith watches with tears in his eyes as Shiro hits a quad Lutz - _his_ quad Lutz, right arm raised and left on his hip - in the second half of his Free for the very first time. He steals back his gold and his world record from Keith, but Keith steals a kiss from him on the podium and thinks they can call it even.

They have been planning the joint Exhibition Skate that follows since the new year. Keith thinks it's a tragedy that this will be the first and only time they will perform it on a public stage, but perhaps that makes it so much more special too. The lights go up, and it catches the black and red sequins of their matching costumes.

For as long as Keith can remember, he has been chasing after Shiro, reaching out in a vain hope to brush his fingertips to the brilliant light that trails behind him, if only fleetingly. Tonight, Shiro reaches out to him, grey eyes creased with an affection that makes Keith's chest ache so sweetly.

“Ready?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for sticking with me to the happy ending, even if we had to take a short pit-stop for a while there. This marks the end of the main story I wanted to lay out, but it's not the end of the series.
> 
> After all, Shiro has his story to tell too.
> 
> I accept hate mail for injuring Shiro at [copilotsheith](http://www.copilotsheith.tumblr.com) on tumblr!


End file.
